


A House in Westchester

by GloriaGilbertPatch



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9097420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaGilbertPatch/pseuds/GloriaGilbertPatch
Summary: For an anon on Tumblr, who wanted introspective Harvey during Tanner's deposition of Scottie in 3x10.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have and make no claims to anything you recognize from Suits, and use fictitiously anything you recognize from real life.

“The facts are: You had a relationship with him in law school. You worked a case against him and, shortly thereafter, ended your relationship. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to connect the dots.”

Luckily for Harvey, Jessica offered a sardonic interruption, because his head was still reeling. Unluckily, Tanner kept on sneering.

“Did you really think that you could domesticate him? A house in Westchester, Harvey flipping burgers on the weekends? What kind of fantasy land were you living in?”

_Shows what he knows about Scottie’s fantasies; she’d never live in Westchester. It would be Manhattan, only, but with a vacation house in New Hampshire, on the lake like her parents’, and she doesn't eat hamburgers often but has a secret weakness for Chicago-style hot dogs._

“Tanner, that’s enough. She’s not answering this line of questioning,” he said abruptly. Tanner kept talking, mocking Scottie, and while there was surely a part of Harvey’s brain that registered their conversation, all he could really concentrate on was the way she was steadfastly _not_ crumpling.

Because Scottie didn’t crumple. She was tough and sharp and deflected everything with casual sarcasm, a flip of her long, dark hair, and a little grin that proved she was in charge. Only now – now he could tell she wanted to cry, _needed_ to cry, and she wouldn’t. In all the years he’d known her, he’d never seen her cry. Oh, sure, she’d been upset – with situations, sometimes, and with him, often – and once or twice he’d definitely watched her blink back tears – but if she cried, she cried alone, and suddenly he had a visceral image of Scottie, sobbing into his shoulder while he embraced her, and…

And it had been _years_ , over a decade, practically a lifetime, since they’d been a real couple, but as he watched her face steadfastly refuse to fall apart and heard Tanner’s taunts in his head, he couldn’t help remembering the beautiful, brilliant girl he’d held close to him, the girl he’d loved more than he’d ever loved any woman before or since, the girl who made him like waking up in the mornings better than sleeping in – the girl he probably would have married, if life had been more like that one daydream weekend, July in New England, and less like Above-The-Law-Dot-Com.

It was the closest they’d ever come to being domestic, him and Scottie; her brother and sister-in-law had had a baby and she’d invited him up for the christening. They’d stayed at her parents’ lake house, the one bed made up for both of them as if the Scotts were acknowledging them as a couple, an item. Not that he’d been able to bring himself to have sex with her under her parents’ roof, of course. She’d laughed and called him a pussy and casually masturbated her way to more than one orgasm while he lay there uncomfortably and tried not to watch. And then in the morning she’d made it up to him, leading him out of the house and along the beach until they were out of sight enough that she could ride him until he saw stars.

He’d watched her stand next to her sister-in-law at the ceremony, the godmother, watched her solemnly renounce Satan and take baby Jacob in her arms. Watched her cradle his little body, her face softer than usual, as she stood at the front of the church in a demure floral print dress, and he’d almost – almost –

They’d gone boating on the lake and eaten barbecue at the picnic table and when the whole family had gone inside to watch TV she’d curled up against him, half in his lap, and for a moment there he’d let himself imagine what it would be like to be her husband, if she’d call herself Mrs. Specter, if she’d look down that lovingly at a baby that was theirs, his and hers.

He’d gone back to Boston and she’d gone to New York when the weekend was over, and then they were back at school, ambitions laid bare, rivals to be vanquished and exams to be conquered and she’d been offered a SCOTUS clerkship and he’d known, in the back of his mind, that that was going to be the end of it. That she would go to DC and be brilliant, and he would go to New York and put criminals away, that they would keep crushing the competition and making Harvard proud, but not together. They’d never talked about the future, for all they’d spent two years at each other’s side: never argued about their wedding or named their children. Hell, he’d never even asked if she wanted kids – not that he even knew, really, if he did, himself.

So they’d lived their lives and fulfilled their goals, and Scottie had slipped from being a central part of his life to being an old friend and adversary he saw – and slept with – once a year or so, even as he chased his own dreams. And yet…and yet, every time he saw her, something sparked inside him, something wrapped up in nostalgia and affection and the aching memory of being young and hungry, looking out at a limitless world. And now, as he sat at her side, watching this woman who’d been by _his_ side when he’d had nothing, he was almost positive that it was love.

And, perhaps, a twinge of regret, because as wonderfully satisfying as the past thirteen years had been, Harvey couldn’t help wondering if they might have been better had the two of them always been at each other’s side.


End file.
